After The Battle We Sit
by ronny-of-yore
Summary: Arya and Gendry talk after the battle at Winterfell and everyone sees.


Morning light filters into the main hall of Greyjoy manor. The Ironborne Isle, now ruled by Yara Greyjoy, is temporary home to the battle worn refugees of Winterfell - survivors of the Night King's massacre. Arya Stark stands, back against a cold pillar, looking out across the sea of cots filled with wounded bodies and even more wounded souls. As for herself, she will never forget the sight of the flames devouring her home as she and so many had stood upon the decks of the ships that had been cradled by the dark, rocky seas. However, not yet a full day after the battle, it is the sight before her now that has her sole attention. Namely a man she had made love to and then swiftly left before the horns of battle had ever blared.

"Nothin' to say?" Gendry gripes, eyes downcast, staring at her booted feet. Hunched over on his own stretch of cot, he is alive but not entirely whole; for he is missing the lower part of his left leg. If Tormund hadn't had cut off the icy limb, he would have turned completely into a walker. But his leg and Tormund's heroic death, thereafter, were not on his mind right now. His heart is all a'jumble and his scattered brains cannot stop the flow of words. "No? Nothin'?" he mockingly asks, finally looking up at his silent visitor. "Well, I do." A curt nod "The horns sounded, I woke, and you were clearly gone."

Gendry isn't necessary glaring at her, but it is an accusatory stare. It is one that cuts her to the bone and hurts worse than the stitched gash on her forehead.

"I know," she states simply, never breaking his gaze. There are so many words to say to him, yet for all her bravery, she can't seem to put them in their place.

"You know?" Gendry intoned incredulously, but then begins mumbling to himself as he had done before in that room of grain when he had woken and thrown on his clothes. "Of course, she knows. She knows everything, this one. Gets what she wants and then leaves without a word."

"Well," Gendry starts again, coming back to himself. His hard gaze pins her to the pillar and even more angry words follow. "Well, if you're thinking of feeding me tripe like you were just letting me rest up for the battle, well, I'm truly grateful for your consideration, M'lady, but if I beg your pardon I'd like to continue resting alone."

"No," is Arya's calm response marked by a nonchalant cross of her arms.

"No?" Gendry stares back at her, clearly at a loss for words.

"No." She says looking down on him. "I left you. Yes. But I left so I could fight."

"We could've fought together! We could've-

"No." She shakes her head. "I could never have concentrated on my own sword play if you were near." Her insides uncurl a touch as she watches his features slowly slacken.

As for Gendry, it is true that he is a hardheaded bull of a man but even he could grasp her meaning. Her words had been false. It hadn't been just a one-night experiment. She cares, he thinks. She cares for me.

The implications made the heat rise to his cheeks and he is the first to break their gaze. But her next words stifle any outward smiles as she solemnly continues, "If I had tried, we'd both be dead and probably have taken others with us."

His Baratheon blood ignites once again; ours is the Fury indeed. "You don't know that! You can't just make those type of decisions without-"

"I can," Arya stoically interjects, fully settling the matter. "I made the better choice. I will not apologize for that."

"Better choice my arse," Gendry grumbles, dropping his gaze to her booted feet again. Eyeing the dried mud at the tip of one, he continues to gripe, "Either one of us could have died without the other ever knowing and what then, eh? Just go about my merry way? Like nothing ever happened? Like I could have just-"

"If I had died, you would have been free to live for the morrow," she talked over him with an even tone. "And if you had died, I would have finished my list and followed you thereafter."

Gendry nods, watching a flake of mud from her sole drop to the floor, but, internally he doesn't agree at all. In neither of those scenarios does she give herself a good ending. Not really. Why must she chase death so? Either way, a large part of him is relieved and even elated that Westeros' most fearsome woman could indeed continue to want to be his lover. His lover… Gods, from hunted children to lovers. The word was mad but so was he.

Gendry tiredly scrubs hands at his own blood stained face with a sigh on his lips and a light in his heart. "I swear, woman, you will be the death of me."

"You're still alive." Arya intones with an air of levity.

Dropping his hands to his lap, defeated for a third time in two days, he just takes a moment to look at her. To really look at her. "and, thank the gods, so are you."

"So, what now?" Arya casually asks, pushing away from her perch. Brushing a strand of hair over a shoulder, she comes to sit down a friendly space beside him and stares out into the sea of busy people around them.

Surprised by her easy-going manner, Gendry draws back and looks at her with a cocked brow. However, it soon lowers and his lips melted into a small quiet smile. Leaning a broad shoulder onto her smaller one, he simply tells her the truth. "No idea really. I mean, I was kind'a hoping you'd take charge of the whole affair. That is … if you're talking about us and not what comes next in the war."

"I was," Arya assures him, bumping her shoulder back against his own. Then she gives him a wicked little smirk that goes straight to all parts of his body. "And, yeah, I'm certain I can take the lead again too."

"I look forward to seeing you do so, M'lady," Gendry replied, shaking his head.

"Don't call me that." Then, she is leaning into him with eager lips and no further words are needed to be said.

Tyrion, sitting on another cot across the crowded Greyjoy hall, turned to a busied Pod who had gratefully stopped to help bandage his leg. "Its like they don't even care that the rest of us are here. I'd say get a room but-

"There are none," Jaime helpfully supplied as he and Ser Brienne of Tarth came upon the duo – their own eyes on the two in the far corner. "I say good for them."

"I would say the same but it seems not all of us would agree." Brienne replied, having looked round to the head of the hall.

Jaime, Tyrion, and even Pod turned to look and found Lady Sansa standing in front of her fur cloaked brother; the former lady of Winterfell having placed a hand on Jon Snow's chest. She was obviously whispering terse words to the would be king to keep him from marching across the hall and making a scene.

"Instead of scowling, you should be happy for her. Face it. She's not our little sister anymore. "

"She will always be my little sister and I am not scowling," Jon tersely whispered back.

"If you love her-"

"Of course I love her! She's my baby sister!"

"Then let her be," Sansa sighed. "You knew her best, after all. If Arya has found love then you know it wasn't lightly. Besides, that blacksmith came with you, did he not? Is he a good man?"

"He volunteered to join my group that went beyond the wall and had a hand in saving my life as well." Jon said grudgingly, all but averting his gaze from his sister's grin that made him feel quite small.

Sansa, taking pity on him, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "You're a good judge of character and so is Arya. I say we give him a chance. Besides, when has Arya ever listened to us?"

"Almost never," Jon nodded, slowly coming around. "Okay." He sighed. "I won't do anything rash ….But I swear if he tries to do anything sorted with her …or hurts her I'll…"

Sansa turned back to the two across the hall. Eyeing the man whose lips were still on her sister, her own features slowly mirrored Jon's. "If that happens, we'll feed him to the dogs."

Yara, who had been one of two bystanders to the entirety of Jon and Sansa's conversation, whispered to Theon, "Do the starks even own dogs? I thought they had wolves?"

Theon, admiring the way certain strands of Sansa's hair looked like fire in the light, idly whispered back. "If Lady Sansa wishes, I can procure them for her."

Yara snorted. "I bet you would."

Back across the hall, someone else decided to chime in. "Good for the little bitch." The hound scowled behind a large Tankard of ale. This surprised the rest who had no idea the man had setup his own cot some time ago not too far behind to Tyrion. "Feel sorry for that cockled son-of-a-bitch. To be perfectly honest, the little shit scares me."

"As she should," Bran, who happened to be wheeling by, commented. In his strange, yet wizened voice he revealed as he slowly continued past. "House Frey fell by my sister's hands as did so many others after all."

It was the hound who found his words first, after dropping his tankard of ale. But make no mistake, his thoughts were shared equally between Jaime, Tyrion, Pod, and Brienne as well.

"Well, I'll be fucked…"


End file.
